


Bon Appétit

by Lonov



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breakfast foods, Captain America - Freeform, Establish Relationship, Humor, M/M, New York City, The Avengers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonov/pseuds/Lonov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve could take down Nazis, HYDRA agents, and alien demi-gods no problem, but he had seriously underestimated the evil of processed food.</p><p>Or, the one where Captain America gains a few pounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Appétit

**Author's Note:**

> Set post- _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Avengers_.
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of food, sometimes in detail. If you’re having problems with an ED I would just generally stay away from this fic.

Okay, Steve thought, this was easy. All it took was a little self-control, and he had that, he did, he was in the army for Christ's sake—though people tended to follow his orders rather than the other way around, so perhaps that didn't mean much, anyway. 

 

Whatever. Steve could do this. All he had to do with put the muffin _down_.

 

"Steve, my man," Sam said from across the table. "You need to chill out."

 

"I shouldn't have bought this," Steve said, gesturing helplessly to the muffin before him.

 

Sam eyed him carefully. "You know you don't actually have to finish the muffin if you don’t want to. Seriously. There are no laws about that. And even if there were, I'm sure no one would arrest Captain America for not eating a breakfast cupcake."

 

Steve raised his eyebrows.

 

"What?" Sam asked defensively. "That's what they are."

 

Steve sulked.

 

"You're too worked up about this. We all gain a few pounds here and there. It's not a big deal."

 

"That's easy for you to say," Steve retorted half-heartedly. "You know I've never gained weight in my life? Really. I mean, when I was growing up I did, but at fifteen that really leveled out. I gained a hundred and twenty pounds with the serum and I figured that was it."

 

"You're moping," Sam informed him.

 

"I've never had to deal with this before!" Steve exclaime. It was such a new problem for him that he hadn't believed it at first, had thought it was a trick of light when he turned in front of the mirror and noticed a layer of fat where there had previously only been muscle.

 

He blamed the coffee shop they were in. He really blamed the coffee shop, because its caramel mocha lattes were so delicious that Steve had been getting one every day, sometimes twice, which meant he'd been drinking—he looked at the small menu in the middle of the table—about four hundred calories every morning. And that was in addition to his morning muffin and his morning sandwich, loaded with cheese, double sausage patties, and extra bacon.

 

The runs he took with Sam in the morning were definitely not enough to burn that all off. Apparently his long hours weight lifting and working out weren’t, either.

 

"When did you first notice it?" Sam asked, pulling Steve back into the conversation.

 

Steve frowned down at his muffin. It certainly _looked_ good, with its buttery crumbs and sweet blueberries, sugar crusted on the top and a soft, fluffy middle… he took another bite. "Training session last week," Steve said through the food in his mouth. "I took my shirt off and noticed I have this," he pointed at his abdomen.

 

"Looks like we've been seriously over-estimating your super-soldier metabolism," Sam muttered.

 

"What?" Steve said.

 

"Nothing, nothing," Sam said, soothingly. "Listen, I'm gonna say this one more time, and then I'm not gonna say it anymore, because I'm kind of tired of this conversation. The only thing you have to worry about is how hard you're being on yourself. And maybe you should be a little concerned about the whole 'must eat every crumb on plate' thing you've been rocking since the Great Depression."

 

Well, that _was_ true, Steve conceded. He should probably silence the voice in the back of his head that told him he had to eat every bite in front of him, despite the fact that portion sizes had grown exponentially since the 1930s.

 

But he wasn't sure that was his problem as much as the fact that twenty-first century food was _so good_.

 

"It's just," Steve said, desolate, "food is so delicious now."

 

"Oh, yeah," Sam agreed. "All that processed food. It's not good for you, but it is good for the _soul_."

 

They finished up at the cafe—Steve making a split-second decision to down the rest of his muffin before recycling his plastic cup and heading out the door behind Sam—and made their way back to where they were staying at Stark Tower.

 

The upper floors of Stark Tower bustled in the morning. Tony had already slipped down to his lab and Bruce still hadn't emerged from his morning meditation, but Natasha and Bucky were engrossed in an animated conversation in Russian, Clint was across the room watching _Dog Cops_ reruns on the television with the volume at full blast, and Thor was spread out across an entire couch watching them in amusement.

 

Steve automatically fell into his perpetual spot on the couch beside Bucky, who, without breaking conversation, reached out to Steve as if to hold hands. Steve took Bucky's hand in his own, and he was just preparing for some serious snuggle time when Bucky turned around to glare at him.

 

"That’s not what I meant," he said, frowning at Steve’s palms, empty except for Bucky’s hand in between them. "Where's my coffee?"

 

Oops. "Er, sorry, Buck. I forgot."

 

Bucky looked deeply hurt. Steve was already standing, prepared to make another quick run to the coffee shop, when Natasha spoke.

 

"Too busy moping to remember?"

 

Steve's mouth dropped open. "How do you—"

 

"You have that look on your face. That mopey look, you know, with the sad puppy eyes." Natasha waved him off as if to add, _Of_ _course I know every thought in your head and every emotion you've ever felt, because that's what I do, Captain Obvious._

 

She'd actually called him that once, Captain Obvious. Steve did not appreciate the sentiment.

 

"Steve's going through a rough time," Sam offered, sitting on the chair beside Steve. "Like most people during a mid-life crisis."

 

"I am not having a mid-life crisis," Steve retorted, at the same time Bucky said, "He's ninety years old, how's that a mid-life crisis?"

 

Steve didn't appreciate that sentiment, either.

 

"We all go through hard times, Steve," Clint said from across the room. "Being brain-washed by demi-gods—"

 

"—being brainwashed by HYDRA," Bucky added.

 

"—family members turning against you in their lust for power," Thor suggested.

 

"—starting a new life only to find your current bosses are just as twisted as your old ones," Natasha put in.

 

"—gamma radiation changing your molecular structure," Bruce added, having just appeared in the doorway.

 

"—your friend's future boyfriend breaking the wings on your awesome government-issued combat suit," Sam said. For what was probably the hundredth time, Bucky apologized. Sam clapped him on the shoulder and let him know it was a joke, because they could joke about these things now.

 

Clint, for his part, looked pleased at how well his point was being made. "Honestly, Steve, you gaining twenty pounds has nothing on any of the things we just mentioned. Hell, Banner gains a thousand pounds every time he's in a bad mood."

 

"Keep making fun of the other guy and I’ll give you an example,” Bruce warned.

 

Clint grinned at him.

 

"All right, Jesus, I get it," Steve said.

 

"I think you look amazing," Bucky put in, unprompted. Steve leaned closer so he could smile into Bucky's neck, peppering kisses along the way. Bucky looked quite pleased with himself.

 

"I once had to gain fifty pounds for an undercover mission," Natasha said loudly, because, as she always said, public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Steve pulled away from Bucky with a sigh. "I had to buy all new uniforms, but I got to eat _ptichye moloko_  after every meal."

 

Clint opened his mouth. "Don't ask what the mission was," Natasha commanded. Clint fell silent.

 

Tony entered the room and took a seat beside Bruce. "Is the Captain finally having a crisis? I wondered when this would happen."

 

Bruce nodded, leaning forward conspiratorially. "It was only a matter of time, considering how unexpectedly he was thrust into our millennium without proper time to adjust."

 

"All you need to do is spend more time in the training room," Sam said.

 

"I'm in there three hours a day," Steve replied, incredulous. "It's not that, it's—it's _that_." He pointed to Thor, who had just emerged from the kitchen with a ham-and-Pop Tart sandwich in one hand and a glass of beer in the other.

 

Bruce frowned at the glass. "It's ten in the morning."

 

Thor pulled his beer into his chest as if to guard it from judgment. "I am a god."

 

"This is your fault," Steve said, eyes wide as he regarded Thor's breakfast of choice. "You keep all this processed food in the house, and it's making me fat!"

 

"Oh, c'mon, Steve, you look great," Bucky said.

 

"We have to get all this food out of the house," Steve said. "And you," he turned on Sam, "you make sure I don't eat any more breakfast cupcakes at that coffee shop anymore. Deal?"

 

"Breakfast cupcake?" Clint whispered. Natasha rolled her eyes.

 

Sam shrugged. "If that's what you want."

 

It wasn’t, but that didn’t stop Steve from walking to the kitchen and making true to his promise. Sam was right—it was difficult on Steve's Great Depression sensibilities to throw away so much food. He sent it all to a nearby shelter, and hoped it would be the last time he saw it.

 

His hopes were futile.

 

Even if there was no longer junk food in the house, it was too easy to find salted pretzels and sweet almonds on the streets of New York, and that was becoming a problem. Steve was certain those almonds weren’t much cleaner than the ground he was walking on, but that didn't stop him from buying a bagful every time he walked by the cart a few blocks down from Stark Tower.

 

Bucky, when he was with Steve, didn't comment on this apart from asking for a handful. Sam just smirked at him in a way that told Steve he was very predictable.

 

Whatever. He'd saved the world enough times; he deserved those almonds, and those pretzels, and those caramel mocha lattes, damn it. What with the amount of time he spent working out, it made sense that he'd need large meals, too; otherwise he'd starve. Actually, Steve was starting to think, maybe it was better to accept the twenty pounds if it meant he could feel full all the time _and_ get a cupcake from City Cakes whenever he wanted.

 

He was Captain America, even if his metabolism wasn't as fast as everyone thought it would be. So if he'd been craving a ham-and-Pop Tart sandwich ever since he'd seen Thor eat one, then by God, he was going to have it.

 

That wasn't to say it didn't take him far longer than it should have to come to this conclusion. Sometime in the third week of his attempt to eat better, he realized how much happier he was when he wasn't so stressed about what he was eating. When he brought this up to Bucky, he looked relieved.

 

"Jesus, Steve, it's about time. You've been in an awful mood since you started this whole thing. We were all placing bets on how long it would take you to crack and go back to being yourself."

 

Steve glowered.

 

"But I'm glad you feel better about yourself now," Bucky offered. They were seated in the balcony outside their room at Stark Tower, and in the darkness of the night sky the whole city stretched before them.

 

Actually, that pizzeria Steve really liked on the Lower East Side was probably still open. Perhaps they could get downtown before it closed.

 

"You know, maybe this means you're actually getting a hang of this whole twenty-first century America thing,” Bucky said.

 

"Yeah?" Steve asked. "And why's that, Buck?"

 

"Well, look at you. You're the American icon. The average American is a little overweight. Maybe now you're representing us better than ever."

 

Steve searched his face for the joke; after a few seconds, they both erupted into laughter.

 

"Okay, okay," Bucky choked through his laughter. "But honestly, if you can still save the world, I don't see what the problem is. During the day you can go out and fight crime, eat whatever you want—even if it's a bunch of doughnuts, like those dogs are always doing in that cop show Clint likes—and then you come home to me and let me fuck you into the ground like usual. It's a pretty good system."

 

"It is," Steve agreed, smiling up against Bucky's neck. "How're you always so right, Buck?"

 

"Oh, I watched all those old propaganda movies Captain America released in the 1940s. They really taught me about the spirit of America, friendship and loyalty and whatnot."

 

Steve bit down on the flesh before him, and Bucky laughed.

 

"I should clarify that I don't care what you eat as long as it isn't me!"

 

"Mm?" Steve asked, nosing his way down Bucky's neck, chest, and then abdomen, until he settled at the crotch of Bucky's jeans. "Are you sure?"

 

"Actually, that's—no, that's good, I change my mind. You can eat me any time you want."

 

Steve's laughter was lost in the night air, but his comfort with himself was newly found. And this, he thought as he went down on Bucky, was much better than even the most tender of breakfast cupcakes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this story fat-positive in terms of how others perceived Steve's weight-gain. Since we don't live in a world where everyone is always comfortable in their bodies, though, I did showcase Steve as an example of someone who isn't comfortable with his.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are loved!


End file.
